


Day of the Tentacles

by I_AM_KING_DAD



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Consentacle Slime, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spit Kink, Tentacle Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_KING_DAD/pseuds/I_AM_KING_DAD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick occasionally attempts to assist Stanley in retrieving his brother. Instead, the local fauna of this dimension has different plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day of the Tentacles

**Author's Note:**

> Props to 35minutesago for coming up with the term "Consentacle Slime" because that's the only thing we could think of that wasn't sex pollen. 
> 
> I wanted to write something smutty with tentacles. Enjoy. <3

“Why are we walking in these woods?” It smelled like rotting wood with a hint of metal, “Did you - did you see him here?”

“Trust me when I say I saw him here. Didn’t you say he studied weird shit? There’s plenty of weird shit in this dimension!” he yelled, and birds flew from their trees.

Everything seemed a bit off in this “dimension” Rick was dragging him through. The natural objects had a fabricated aspect, scent, or feel to it. Was this even a forest? He knocked on a tree; it made a dull, metallic thud. There weren’t too many animals inhabiting this area; he only caught a passing glimpse of the birds. Rick wasn’t even paying attention, lost in his own world of alcoholism and whatever drug he could find. He could smell it on his clothes, and knowing just how bizarre his ideas were when he was drunk, Stan grew cautious. 

Stan watched as Rick hobbled toward a clearing, his movements exaggerated, looking like an explorer in thick jungle brush. This was probably a good time to rest, they’d been walking for a while, and Stan shuffled over to a bizarre puddle off to the side. It was humming, or at least, it sounded like humming as he drew closer. It was the only liquid he’d seen on this planet thus far. It was rather underwhelming; it looked like a puddle of oil that just remained there, except for the sound. He could see his reflection perfectly. That wasn’t something he enjoyed. The bags under his eyes indicated weeks of improper sleep. He just looked tired, and he smacked the side of his face to wake up a bit. Rick had since stopped, and was fiddling with the portal gun, muttering to himself. 

His eyes drifted back to the puddle. Resting on his heels, he looked down into it, “What is this?” he asked casually, but Rick wasn’t paying attention. There was no explicit caveat of “don’t touch anything,” so he figured he could dip his pinky into the oil. Pulling the liquid upward; it was thicker than water, and rather viscous, like a black mucus. He drew his hand away quickly and wiped it on his trousers. Whatever liquid this was, it wasn’t something to be toyed with and it definitely was not fit for consumption. 

“W-what are you doing? We gotta, we gotta go! We gotta go find your brother, Stanley, and he’s probably, he’s probably on the other side of the planet!” Oh great, he was using crutch words. Rick was trashed. 

“I’m comin’ I was just looking at this thing,” he pointed at the puddle, and stood up. 

Rick followed Stan’s finger, and he must have not noticed it before. His eyes widened in acknowledgement as if he knew what it was, and there was some other expression that quickly disappeared in an attempt to mask his feelings, but it didn’t look friendly. “Do you, do you always just touch whatever you want in strange places you-you’ve never been? I thought you were smarter than that, Stan,” he gained his salty disposition again. 

Quickly standing up, Stan rolled his eyes, “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“Doesn’t mean you should, Stanley!” Rick had his back to him now and was starting off in the direction they were originally headed, “We’re wasting time, Stanley!” 

He hated when Rick called him Stanley. It meant he was way too drunk to handle the situation. Grimacing, he kicked a bit of brush into the puddle, and started off. The heel of his shoe dipped into the liquid, and Stan realized very quickly that this was much deeper a body of water than what he had perceived. He panicked, and his whole left leg was enveloped by the liquid up to his knee. Crying out, he kicked his leg and propelled himself forward in order to get out. It was cold, and felt like he stuck his foot into a barrel of human sputum. When he removed his leg from the puddle, it was as if it was covered in tar. To his surprise, in a similarity to Mercury, the liquid rolled off him, back into the puddle with only a clear bit of slime coating his pants. Rick had turned around at this point and grunted something.

“What?”

“I said, you should probably-” there was a sound, and the ground moved around him.

Stan looked down, the liquid was shaking. He took a few step backwards, but found himself falling on his ass, “Rick?” he looked over, but Rick was just staring at him glassy-eyed. Great. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted him when he was wasted. Looking down at the puddle, he noticed something thick and black wrapped around his leg. It was...part of the puddle? As if the liquid had formed into a material being from the deepest part of the ocean, it felt snug on his ankle. He kicked his leg, and scrambled to get up. He was held there, “Rick!” he looked at him again, shouting, voice cracking.

Rick scratched at the back of his neck and watched as what was just one tentacle wrapped around Stan’s ankle became two. The other wrapped around the opposite ankle, and before Stan could say anything else, he was flipped upside down. It was then that Rick walked over his dangling companion, looking him in the face in silence. His expression was unreadable, but his body language exhibited nervousness. “What aren’t you telling me?” he growled.

“Y-you should probably just let it-urp-let it happen.” A suggestion like that from Rick was a statement that made Stan’s gut twist upon itself. 

He groped at one of the tentacles, nails scraping against sentient slime. When that didn’t work, he gave a good punch to one. It trembled at the touch, but stiffened after a moment. The base of the puddle quivered, and the peaks of two more tendrils began to form, “Ohhh, no!” Stan growled, swinging his fists futily at this new development. Reaching up to the length of the others, they were surprisingly tender catching the man’s fists. He was lifted up, no longer upside-down. Instead, he was held in place, suspended in mid-air in a pose usually seen when skydiving. Lack of access to his hands amped up his panic, voice a dull roar, “Sanchez!” he barked, “You better get me down from here or I swear, I’m gonna kick your ass so fuckin’ hard you’re-”

Stan’s threat seemed to sober Rick considerably. His face darkened, eyes now eerily sharp, “Wh-what’s that? What do you think you’re gonna, you’re gonna do now? Look where your M.O’s got you,” he circled a pointed finger toward Stan’s bound arms, “Didn’t I tell you, y-you need to relax?” His expression bordered on wicked and smug, a dangerous combination. “I- I told you that before we went through the portal. Now quit being a whiny little shit, and go with the, the flow.” He seemed incredibly annoyed that Stan didn’t seem to know what this was, or even what was happening. Like he was just expected to know this would be good for him.

The feeling of helplessness actualized itself as a dull ache stretched within Stanley’s chest. Once he got free...well, Rick was in a world of hurt. He already calculated how many punches to the face he’d give him. Maybe he’d keep his jaw in tact so he wouldn’t be eating through a straw. Gritting his teeth, Stan gave a smile that was similar to a glower. “Okaaaaay,” he began, “seems to be having its fun, when’s it gonna let me down?”

Rick blinked a few moments, the last been of a drunk haze dissipating. “The fun hasn’t even started yet, Pines!” With that, he stretched his arms out and fell backward, landing into a pile of leaves that, although organic, looked like the cheap metal die cast ones someone could buy at a craft store. Resting his hands behind his head, he seemed to be waiting for something to unfold. This did not bode well for Stan.

“You knew this thing was here!?” He wrung his wrists as best he could, but they were held fast. They never hurt him, they didn’t cling harder than they needed to. It handled him with a surprising softness. This wasn’t very reassuring. He eyed each limb with suspicion. “So then you know what it’s gonna do.” Bastard. Fucking bastard. Why did he trust him, it had to be more than desperation to retrieve his brother. He buried that thought in the bile forming an ulcer in the pit of his stomach. Rick sensed his irritation and folded his arms, watching as a fifth tendril wriggled its way into existence, stretching, thinner than the others. It arched, and poised the tip, relaxed in front of Stan’s face. The tip of a tentacle was an offering he refused to accept. Jerking his face away from it, his eyes grew wide with paranoia.

“Wh-what do you think I’m a fu-uuuuuuuh-cking idiot?” he lifted a leg, resting an ankle on his knee, “If you just - I mean - look at it! I-I-It’s practically, practically flirting with you, and y-y-ou’re just making everything harder on yourself,” his increase of stutter a tell of exasperation, “I-I mean do I have to show you?” He didn’t budge, it seemed hypothetical. 

This has not occurred to him in the slightest. He watched, transfixed in horror as the tentacle lurched forward, resting against his cheek. From the tip seemed to drool a substance similar to the slime of the other tentacles. There was something fundamentally different when he felt it on his skin. It started to warm up, to his relief it was only a pleasant heat. Another interesting attribute he noticed was how good it smelled. He caught himself taking in deep whiffs of the substance. His attraction to the heavy scent brought a new wave of panic and nausea. Choking on a gag he croaked one, “Rick!” before it began to poke at his lips; he had no choice but to keep his mouth shut, lest he be invaded. Stan’s blood boiled, watching helpless as Rick seemed to be admiring the view, laughing when he saw a crimson blush spread across his cheeks.

Initially, it was incredibly gentle. Stan screwed his eyes up and felt every muscle in his body clench up. He had to resist. Yet that smell...it was a mouth-watering mixture of savory and sweet. Nostrils prickling at the scent, he turned his head to the other side. Oh, how he wanted to taste whatever that was. Just one lick, it couldn’t hurt. He was shocked at his attempts to reason with himself. This had to be a trick, and he was determined not to let this phallic, black appendage anywhere near his lips. While he wasn’t paying attention, the tentacles clasping his legs wormed their way up, one dangerously close to his crotch. While this one groped suddenly at his clothed bulge, the other one’s tip blindly sought an entrance into his pants. The playful squeeze to his crotch elicited a shout from Stan, and that gave the perfect opportunity for the one in front of his face to sneak past his lips and rest onto his tongue. Another panicked cry was muffled as it swelled to fit his mouth. Stan could see Rick no longer hiding his amusement, but laughing and pulling off his lab coat. “That’s the spirit,” he laid the otherwise filthy lab coat neatly on the ground. 

Spirit was the last thing on his mind as he battled the invading body in his mouth. When he couldn’t will his tongue forward to slough the tentacle out, he resorted to sinking his teeth deep into the appendage. This was one of the worst decisions he’d felt he could have made. Immediately the flesh burst, fluid filling his mouth rapidly until it dripped down his chin. The taste was foul and acrid, with a bit of tang. He likened it to a substance similar to battery acid. Rick’s chuckles turned to hollers while watching him grapple with the foul taste, “I-I told you! Just let it, just let it happen!” he flailed an arm up into the air, pointed toward Stan’s crotch. The tentacle groping his crotch had found an opening to his trousers. For such a barbaric creature, its tentacles had the ability to be quite articulate, considerate even. It learned quickly, like most cephalopods. The button was unhooked, zipper unzipped, and the fabric pealed away. It hesitated, tickling the tip of its appendage under his belly. Stan kicked his legs uselessly. 

It appeared that this creature, as forceful as it was, did not seem to want to hurt Stan. The viscous fluid in his mouth began to solidify, reforming the appendage he bit through. As this happened, the taste of battery acid dissipated, and he was left with the ever-compelling scent that had captured his attention earlier. It wasn’t in his nature to give up and just let things happen, especially after that horrible taste. Although his muscles remained rigid, he allowed for the tentacle in his mouth to continue its course. His chest caved momentarily as he coughed when a bit of fluid spurted past his tongue and down his throat. Stan swallowed involuntarily. The fluid immediately soothed his throat, hot and thick, warming his chest. After a few moments, the heat spread, his skin scorching. Whatever he swallowed worked similar to a muscle relaxer. Slowly his body unclenched, and he felt a sense of awe and dread. 

Simultaneously the creature’s limbs curled tighter on his wrists, snaking the tip between his fingers. The tentacles on his ankles pulled off his shoes, and once his feet were bare Stan garbled a choking cry of dissent. There was more fluid pooling in the back of his throat. He swallowed again. His senses became overwhelmed by the taste, which made swallowing much easier. Like a mallet to the head he was hit with waves of vague nostalgia, flavors that resounded deeply within him. Something so familiar he was eager for more. Every craving he had ever had, every binge he ever went on, was magnified in this fluid. He looked away, embarrassed by his eagerness to taste more. Rick stopped laughing to watch in amusement and a slight hint of arousal as Stan began to willingly suck on the appendage. The tentacle, spurting one last bit of fluid, withdrew itself into the puddle of its being alone, rippling slightly. 

Rick stood up to, brushing himself off. He wanted to observe Stan a little more closely, maybe get this show on the road. As the tentacle popped from Stan’s mouth, several strands of fluid and saliva hung from his lips. Standing before him, Rick gathered the spittle on his finger, smirking. Stan was babbling quietly to himself about how good it tasted, breath heavy. Where did that tentacle go anyway? Looking him in the eye, Rick popped the finger in his mouth, rubbing the fluid on his gums. Smacking his lips loudly, he chuckled, “Little bit of this stuff gets ya real good, real-urrrp-real high.” Not satisfied with the immediate rush to the head he was getting, he placed a hand gingerly on Stan’s cheek. The kiss he gave him was brief, tongue darting out to swipe a little bit more fluid away. Pulling back, he licked his lips and gave a small thumbs up while watching Stan’s eyes, which were clouding up fast. At first, it didn’t even seem like it registered there was someone talking to him. Rick, knowing Stan would never go down without a long-winded and frustrating fight, asked, “Soooo? Enjoying y-yourself?” He rotated one of his hands in a small circle, goading Stan to say something. 

“...f-fuck you, Rick,” was an effort to spill from Stan’s loose lips. Letting out a soft sigh, it transformed into a gasp. Rick stepped backward, and the tentacle that had freed him of his pants and snaked its way into his boxers. The appendage attempting to enter from the leg of his pants actually gripped the material once it realized clothes could be removed, yanked downward and discarded the fabric. There was a struggle with his shirt, but once it was removed, this seemed to please the creature greatly. It vibrated, emitting the soft hum that drew Stan to the puddle initially. While it did so, Rick picked up the pieces, humming to himself. He folded the items and placed them in a neat pile next to where he originally sat. 

“Well, I can’t say y-y-you don’t look good this vulnerable,” he flashed a grin, sat down, and waited. The fluid he ingested from their quick kiss brought a flush to his own cheeks. The fabric of his briefs felt uncomfortably tight-just like they should. Relaxing into the ground, he unbuttoned his trousers for a little extra room, and sighed contently. 

Interestingly enough, the mass of tentacles didn’t seem to like Stan’s sassed response to Rick. Its form below shuddered; another appendage, similar to the one that had already entered his mouth rose up. Appearing to mouth, “Oh, great,” Stan obliged it, however quickly realized this wasn’t as benevolent as its predecessor. He groaned as it swelled in his mouth, growing to a point where his mouth was stretched out at a constant. Drool pooled under his tongue and leaked out the corners of his lips. Wanting to fight further, he failed to keep up with the effectiveness of whatever drug was in the fluid produced by such a creature. His brain buzzed; synapses fired slower, sounds grew fainter, and his vision dissipated into a twilight haze. Reality took on the characteristics of a medicated fever dream. Whatever vestiges of pain he had were simply gone. He felt light; all the weight on his nerves eased. Stan’s glazed eyes had a soft and gentle look to them - he was gone for now. 

Rick wanted to get this show moving. Once the creature was done with Stan, he knew that there’d be a good period of a few hours where he’d still be a hot mess-and all for him. He watched each tentacle writhe against Stan’s bare flesh, leaving slick trails. It seemed restless; the appendage wrapped around his left thigh had already wrapped the tip of itself around the aching organ between his legs. 

Stan bristled for a moment at the feeling, and relaxed again. He seemed semi-cognizant of his surroundings, but it wasn’t like he could do much to protest. There wasn’t anything to protest about. Hips bucking as he felt a tentacle wrap around his dick, he let out a pleased groan. Precum already formed at the head, the head swollen and purple. Distracted by the delicious feelings and prickling warmth that grew in his abdomen, he didn’t realize the now the slick black, drooling head of another appendage wrapping around his left thigh and ever-so-gently spreading the cheeks of his buttocks apart. 

This won’t take long, Rick thought eagerly to himself. The lubricant produced by this alien was twice as slick as lubricant used in industrial animal husbandry. This was demonstrated by the ease in which it pushed past Stan’s tight sphincter with little to no ceremony. A grunt was heard, chuffed from the man’s nostrils. It sounded hungry, like a predatory growl. Rick smirked, rubbing at his own clothed bulge, thoroughly enjoying the strongest man he knew being split in half by an alien species he wasn’t even sure had a name yet. Once it settled in and was certain it was lubricated well enough (How could it not be? The thick mucus was visibly dripping from his thighs!) it became more methodical in its approach. Mechanical thrusts took over the black form; the sound it emitted was no longer a thrumming similar to a theremin, but now something much deeper, resounding in the Earth. This cued Rick to crawl back a bit as the creature was almost finished.

Stan was drenched in sweat, his skin was hot enough to fry an egg. Each thrust from the creature sent him continually closer to orgasm, but it was never enough. The increase in speed wasn’t close enough to get him there. Hot tears of frustration stung at his eyes when he felt a rush of fluid inside him. All sound stopped. The tentacles inside him withdrew with two pleasing “pops” and he was lowered gently onto the ground. Everything felt frozen compared to the unbearable heat of his skin. He coughed, spluttering out a rasped, “Wait!” reaching out to the alien, which now reverted back to its form as a perceived pool of oil. Wiping at his face he whimpered and turned when he felt a presence behind him. “How’re you feeling?....Slick.”

He spat on the ground, replying brusquely, “Whuzzat s’posed to mean?” His lips and tongue felt swollen. Rick wasn’t certain whether his query was because he truly didn’t understand it, or whether he was being sarcastic. Stan wasn’t sure either. Without the constant stimulation from the creature, he was granted a little bit of his fight back, but not much. Still an inferno. Still had a hardon. He sat up, gingerly touching the tip of his cock, which twitched at the sensation. Looking up at Rick, his expression was enraged, desperate, and helpless. A winning combination. Rick dropped to his knees, tutting.

“Hey baby,” he giggled to himself and pushed Stan back onto his back, “I-I didn’t say move. You look, ya look great there.” 

Stan’s eyebrows raised and he reached up to swat Rick away. He forgot how effective that tranquilizer was. The blow hit Rick, but like a pillow in slow motion. He was now open and vulnerable to any advance Rick made. Knowing Rick, he already had ideas on how he would take his liberties. While this would generally make his skin crawl, Stanley was in no position to articulate his whims. “C’mere,” he was instructed. Stan couldn’t find it in him to move closer. “Y-Y-You just don’t know when to-urp-to listen, huh?” Before he knew it, Rick was settling himself between Stan’s legs. All he could do was prop himself up on his wrists, “Gimme a kiss.” He wasn’t given a choice, Rick had already pressed his lips against his in a crushing, feverish kiss-not that he minded. 

It was much easier accepting a kiss from a human mouth than it was a tentacle, even if it was as sloppy as one. He didn’t bother wiping the saliva smeared across his face, or smooth his hair that was being ruffled and tugged by Rick. Gasping for air when Rick pulled away to grip at his arms and continue babbling. Hardly able to concentrate on any of the words coming from the other man’s mouth, he found himself now resting fully on his back. An incredibly smug Rick loomed over him. Through the constant roaring in his ears he could hear, “Damn, Stan, living in one place really didn’t help your-your figure. Maybe you should hit the gym instead of the bar because-heh-you got a keg!” 

In an instant a fist connected clean with Rick’s jaw. He reeled back for a moment in surprise, and rubbed the area. Stan may have been heavily sedated, but he wouldn’t let that disrespect slide. Rick laughed and smacked his stomach with a wink. Rick made a show of unbuckling his belt, looking at it momentarily and then back at Stan, “You gonna act up?” he waggled the belt in front of his face. 

Growing restless and more irate with every sentence that spewed from that shit scientist’s mouth, Stan crassly blurted, “Just fuck me, already!” he raked his fingers against the ground until black earth embedded itself in his fingernails. 

“Ooooo,” Rick cooed, while pulling his pants and briefs down with a swift motion, “Never seen you this vulnerable. I-I-It’d be nice if you stayed this way, y’know?” he mused and spat into his hand, and for a moment examined the phlegm. Rick’s cock was standing at attention, and he slathered the spittle down the length. Stan bit his tongue, just waiting for the indignity Rick reveled in to pass and for him to finally get down to business. 

Rick brought a hand down and positioned a finger at the rim of Stan’s ass and pushed. There was no resistance. When he brought his hand up, it was slick with slime. He laughed and gripped Stan’s legs, “It’s got you so good you’re not even closing all the way. I don’t know why I even bothered spitting, this is great!” without warning he lifted Stanley’s legs, positioning his calves to rest on his shoulders.

“Hey! No-” beginning to protest, Stan was silenced with a sharp twist to a nipple.

“If yeuuuugh’re gonna get fucked, y-you might as well like the slut you are,” as he said that, Rick now positioned the tip of his rock at Stan’s eager hole. He could only moan in response. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the sedative or degradation he craved from him deep down, but the fight drained away. Maybe it was all the blood rushing to his head. He bit his lip to muffle any more moans. There was minimal resistance with his initial thrust, but Rick made certain to bury himself up to the hilt. It was achingly slow. Slow enough to drive him mad. Rotating his his in a circle, Rick withdrew, the tip of his cock fleetingly bumping his prostate. Stan cried out nonetheless. One teasingly slow thrust was all Rick could handle. Gripping Stan’s thighs tightly he unleashed all sexual frustration on him in a vigorous, snapped thrust. It set the pace, Rick’s breaths already pants as he zealously pumped his hips. 

As Rick sped up, Stan’s hips bucked as if jolted with electricity each time that sweet spot was hit. His toes curled, the back of his thighs began to burn from the angle he was in. Every sensation was welcome and intoxicating. He didn’t bother listening to Rick babble on, but cooed when teeth scraped at the nape of his neck. A few more nibbles and the lap of a tongue sent him over the edge. Hot ropes of cum dashed his chest and stomach. He cried out, pushing against Rick, crying out his name. This was something that set Rick off, and he was not far behind. Punctuating his last thrust with a throaty groan, he came deep inside Stan, and immediately pushed the legs from his shoulders. It took him a moment to stand up and dress himself. So much for a sexy afterglow. 

Stan was surprised to how little relieved he felt. It was not long before his erection stirred between his legs and stood half mast. The blush across his face never dissipated. Rick’s smug smirk made another appearance, “Well, Stanleee-,” his name ending in a resounding belch, “C’mon, we need to get back to your dimension, and to bed-” now he was hurriedly helping him into his pants and shirt.

“What about -” Stan had almost forgot their original purpose here.

“Oh, he’s not here, Stan, he- he’s gone, we’ll get him another time, let’s just,” he was hurried, “get out of here,” he aimed his portal gun at the ground. Grabbing Stan around the waist he was about to jump in before he stated, “Y-you’re gonna be like this for twenty-four more hours. I wanna enjoy it, Stanley, but I gotta warn you,” he paused to clear his throat, “you’re gonna be bedridden for a couple of days. That’s just how it works, it’d be lost explaining it on you right now,” and with that, he led them through the portal.


End file.
